Short Takes
by TraipsingExodus
Summary: It is the small events of our lives that remember us to those we are closest to.
1. A Pastry

A summoner knocked politely on the heavy oak door clearly labeled "Employees Only" and the curt voice of a woman called out, muffled, "Enter." Wearing an incredibly uncharacteristic apron and chefs hat, the Fallen One glazed several pastries, and spread the confection generously across them before she set them aside to frost a cake. Her hands moved quickly, deliberately, across every inch of it and she looked only briefly up at the summoner to ask, "What? I'm busy."

"When'll you be off?" he asked casually.

With a sigh and a roll of eyes, she picked up the beautifully frosted cake and brushed the summoner aside as she walked into the actual salesroom of the bakery. The summoner trundled behind her, a pout of disapproval on his face as she placed the cake down upon the counter and stuck a delicate metal cardholder into it. The card it held read clearly, "Devilishly Dark Devil's Food Cake." She turned about and nearly walked headlong into the summoner after setting down the cake. "Have you come only to bother me? Or is there something you actually wanted? I will be off when I am done. I've told you this plenty of times. I hardly think it begs repeating. Unless you're stupid or something." A thin smirk formed on her face as she pushed past the summoner.

She emerged from the backroom almost immediately and carried with her the freshly glazed pastries. Again she brushed past the summoner, who continued to stare at her, half-glum, half-amused, as she set the pastries in a display case. Her frame obscured the contents of the case, but when turned about, she held in her hand one of the treats. With a much warmer smile, she handed the pastry to the summoner, who took it quietly and smiled back.

It was then that she smeared the excess glaze on her fingers on his cheek and chuckled. "Get out of here and clean your face up. I'll be off, as always, when I'm done. Can you wait that long or are you going to bother me the rest of the day?" The summoner shook his head and made for the door, but as he reached for the handle, it swung open and revealed a patron.

The smile on the baker's face vanished, and the softness that had lined the very edges of her voice dissipated, replaced by a straight face and businesslike tone as she greeted the customer. The summoner gestured for the patron to enter and gave her one last look. For an instant, though her tone nor her face changed, her eyes softened in a way he knew was reserved only for him.


	2. Forgotten

As always, she sat outside the Institute, thoroughly forlorn. Another match, another teasing glow of light beneath her feet, only for it to fade out as another champion was whisked away to the Fields. The Half-Dragon sat glumly in the pristine meadow outside the Institute and stared with unfocused, glassy eyes at the sky. She was forgotten, alone, and hardly worth a mention, much less as summoning.

A spike of fury turned over terribly in her gut and she collapsed on her back upon the grass. Her disused gauntlets rested beside her and she reached over for one. Turning it to look into the visage of a dragon that had been molded upon them, she said quietly, "Is there no one that requires me now? Have I become so useless to these Summoners that I am only worth mocking? Perhaps the League has no need of me now. I ought to leave it and seek purpose elsewhere..." Her thoughts drifted to the upright Prince she admired so much and a terrible lump rose in her throat.

The sound of dampened foot falls broke the silence and she tilted her head to see a golden set of shining boots. A terrible blush flooded her face and she scrambled inexpertly to get to her feet. "M-my Prince, please forgive me!" She got to her feet at last and stood upright and stiff before Jarvan, trembling slightly. She hoped dearly that the Prince did not think of her as lazing about. "What do you require of me?"

Jarvan chuckled. "At ease Shyvana. What is it you're doing out here?"

Shyvana averted her eyes from the Prince and wrung her hands involuntarily. "Nothing, my liege." Jarvan raised an eyebrow; he was not convinced, and the features on his face twisted into a frown. Shyvana could not take the scrutiny and so her mouth overflowed with words. "I'll stop the lying, I'm sorry my Prince. I've been lamenting my...status, let's call it in the League. I'm unused, oft forgotten and by and large useless, dead weight in matches amidst the new champions that have made their entry into the League recently. I cannot say I blame the Summoners for their decisions..." Her face grew red and hot, and she blinked at the ground, fighting back bitter tears. "I cannot question their decisions."

Jarvan regarded the poor soul for a moment and when he spoke, his tone was rousing. "Hardly anything to worry about Shyvana. A series of matches against Noxus are on the horizon and the Summoners have made special sanctions such that the denizens of the participating city-states may decide who will fight on the Fields." He held out a hand and with a bracing grin, added, "And you, Shyvana, will lead the charge alongside myself and the Might of Demacia. We will bring down the putrid Noxian champions, whomever they may be, and show all of Valoran the strenght of Demacia. But the question remains: will you pull yourself out of this pit of despair and join me?"

Shyvana nodded vigorously, her voice barely containing her glee as she answered, "Yes, my Prince! Let us crush the foes of Demacia!" Jarvan smiled broadly and beckoned for Shyvana to follow him back into the Institute. As she did, she could not help but grin.

'You're a saint, Prince Jarvan...'


End file.
